Dr. Perfect: A Contemporary Romance Bundle

by Oliver, J. P.

  The boy’s jaw was tensing. His fingers curled into another fist.

  I shook my head up at him, preparing for another blow. “If you think he’ll take care of you, then tell me. Why is he luring my friend away and not here with you?”

  The boy struck me harder this time and I could taste blood as a cut formed in my lip at the impact. I bit back against the pain of it; I’d had worse before.

  “That’s enough,” Addie barked, and the boy obeyed, unwillingly. I sat a little taller as she hopped off the pallet, making her way towards my team—towards me in particular. “If they don’t wanna talk now, they’ll sure as hell talk after a long night. Make sure they stay awake. I don’t care how you do it, but I want them tired and weak. I want their smart asses beggin’ for their mamas.”

  Addie took her gun and went, leaving the boy to do whatever he wanted with us. They would extract information later, in the morning, I guessed.

  But for now, it was going to be a long night.

  21

  Fred

  After a glorious hour and a half drive, I could see my long driveway and the lights emanating from my home.

  The person who had picked me up—Tallulah, her name was, my new favorite person—had broken the speed limit to get me here so quickly when I had explained there was someone in trouble. I don’t know what she thought the trouble was, but she was happy to do it once I introduced myself, agreeing to drive me home in exchange for a selfie and me autographing a napkin she had stored in her glove compartment.

  I asked her to drop me off just shy of my house, which she found a little odd, but didn’t ask for an explanation.

  I wondered briefly, as she sped away, if she would tell others about what had happened. Literally no one would ever believe her.

  It felt like an action movie again and I spoke mutedly to myself, directing how to move as I crept up to my house slowly, paranoid of any other watchful eyes or goonish figures Henry had employed to help deter our plans. Perhaps it was a little unhealthy of me to coach myself an my movements, slipping back into role of director, but it was what needed to be done. It I had stopped to consider the seriousness of the situation, I would have probably thrown up.

  Hassan was probably right, after all. The likelihood that this was all a trap was incredibly high. My odds weren’t looking too good.

  I compartmentalized that thought as quick as possible, as I army-crawled through the carefully landscaped bushes around my house.

  Ducking between doorways, avoiding where I knew cameras had been set up by Hassan’s team, I finally found an unlocked window. It belonged to one of my live-in staff. Any other day, Hassan would have ripped the staff member in two for leaving a window unlocked. Now, I was just immensely grateful.

  Inside was chillingly quiet.

  Where my home so often felt warm and inviting, always someone talking or humming or working or passing by, was now silent. It was as if it were freshly abandoned. I wondered who, if anyone, had gotten away. After all, Henry was a force, but he was just one man.

  I don’t know what it was that drew me to check my home theater first. Perhaps it was the same instinctual pull I felt when I first saw my niece and nephew and knew I had to protect them; the same familial bond I had felt when Abella showed up on my back porch with a knife and looking strangely like our mother.

  There in the seats, huddled against one another, were Abella, Teresa, Juan and Lorna too. A new kind of adrenaline kicked in—the elated kind that accompanied success, the high of it sweet. I could have cried.

  Juan was the first to spot me, his voice hushed and excited as he cooed over his mother’s shoulder, “Uncle Fred!”

  My family turned, faces melting in their relief to see me. I ran to them, enveloping Abella in a deep hug and Lorna too, as Juan and Teresa hugged me however they could reach me. Abella sniffled in my ear.

  “Fred, I’m so glad to see you,” she sighed.

  I felt a satisfaction, and a determination. I was supposed to have protected her when we were children, but she had disappeared. I’d spent so long blaming myself for that. But, now was another chance to make it right again.

  I pressed a finger to my lips, offering a placating smile. “There’s a window that’s open,” I whispered, leading them slowly towards the door. “In the staff wing.” I turned to Lorna and she nodded understandingly as I told her, “In Ricardo’s bedroom, it’s unlocked. We’ll go through there, but we must be quick and quiet—”

  “The window’s locked now, actually.”

  The foreign voice froze us. I turned, my body shielding them.

  There in the doorway stood their captor, the reason for all of the horrible things that were happening to my friends and my family.

  Henry Carter.

  He didn’t look how I had pictured. His voice was ragged, rasping at its edges, but he himself was clean-cut. He looked older, like he had just edged his way into his fifties, the honey of his hair fading darker and in some places, there were small shocks of gray. He was a physically fit man and his clothing seemed clean, a pair of dog tags shining proudly and hanging around his neck beneath the collar of his olive jacket.

  What surprised me most though, were his blue eyes.

  Despite all that he’d put us through, they had the nerve to look kind.

  Something about the way he carried himself reminded me of Mikhail or Hassan, well-built and sturdy, but there was an underlying danger to him and it wasn’t so obvious. I felt as though I knew him better because of it—because of all the rambling letters and strange gifts.

  “I’m here, Henry,” I said slowly, trying to get a read on him. “Now let them go.”

  He seemed calm, in control. “I will.” He held out his hand. “I need your phone. Your watch. Anything that anyone could contact you on.” He thought a moment. “And any weapons you might have. Then, they’ll be free to go.”

  My family’s life for this. I moved quickly, eager to get them out of here. My phone and watch were all I turned over.

  “I don’t have anything else,” I said, turning my pockets inside out. I flashed under my shirt, under my pant legs. “The people at the compound took any weapons I had.”

  Henry nodded slowly, satisfied with my compliance, before he waved. “They can go. But, if they go to the police or for help, there will be clear consequences.” He turned then to Lorna. “Your daughter lives in Los Feliz. I have her address and should any law enforcement be alerted to what has happened tonight, I will know and send her address to my associate—” I thought of the boy who had been waiting for us in Henry’s room, “—and he will be sure to pay them a visit.”

  Lorna whimpered something behind me, quiet and in Spanish; it took me a moment to realize it was a prayer.

  Henry waved again, expression even, as if he were dismissing interns at a meeting. “You may leave.”

  “Fred—?”

  “Do as he says.” I turned to Abella as she touched my arm questioningly. This was the only way I could protect her. I touched her cheek and slowly pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be okay. Just go. Get them to a safe place. Lorna will help you.”

  Abella nodded disjointedly, holding Juan close. Lorna took hold of Teresa’s hand and they spared me one unsure glance over their shoulder before leaving, footsteps running once they had exited the home theater.

  We were both silent enough to hear the front door open and shut behind them. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard a car engine starting.

  Eerily, I realized, we were finally alone.

  Henry eyed me carefully and I supposed it was natural; after all, he had only every seen me from whatever faraway place he used to watch me through my windows.

  He was dangerous but for the time, calm. Things as far as he knew, were going his way.

  I extended a hand slowly. “We haven’t been… properly introduced,” I said and his eyes fell to my hand thoughtfully. “Frederic Reyes.”

  It seemed redundant. Obviously he knew who I
was.

  He said nothing.

  I tried again. “I... haven’t gotten your full name.”

  He didn’t shake my hand. “Henry Carter,” he said, a half-smile flickering over his face. “But you already knew that.”

  Was there any point in lying about what I already knew? “I did, yes.”

  Henry seemed amused by the interaction. He shook his head, glancing at an industrial-looking watch on his wrist. “We should get going.”

  My heart sank. I didn’t want to leave my home; it was familiar territory. “Going?”

  “Hassan should be on his way by now. Two hours is plenty of time.” Henry plucked up a backpack from one of the theater seats, swinging it over his shoulder. “You know him by now. He’s a very dedicated man. We need to leave before he gets any closer.”

  I nodded slowly and he gestured for me to follow as he made his way towards the theater room door. My eyes roamed over him, the unreality of the situation setting in slowly and that’s when I caught the sight of it: there, tucked into the back of his jeans, was a pistol. It wasn’t even strapped in. It was exposed to me.

  It would be so easy, I thought.

  Hassan’s careful instructions on how to operate one ran through my head, as I lunged forward, feeling the cool metal of it under my fingers—

  I tore it quickly from Henry’s waistband, both hands coming around it and it happened so quickly, I nearly stumbled backwards down the stairs as I pointed it squarely at him, but—he held his hands up, slow and dignified, face still infuriatingly even. Was he confident that I wouldn’t shoot?

  I wasn’t sure I could do it myself.

  After all this time, this wasn’t what I wanted. I could feel myself shaking again with the adrenaline of the situation, exhausted now by the cycles of it. I wanted help for Henry. He was tricky. He was dangerous, but dammit, he was a person and he would never get better if he was dead, but still—

  This needed to end.

  His smile was small, almost affectionate.

  I knew it was never going to end, if he could help it. I considered calling the police, but it would never happen; I couldn’t put Lorna’s family in jeopardy and I doubted I could get to a phone anyways. I didn’t know how long I could keep Henry like this. He was bigger than me and had been through far less today; his energy was higher than mine.

  I felt my stomach twist with the weight of the decision. I had to make it.

  “Frederic—” he began, and he took a step forward, hands still raised so unconcerned—

  I had to make it now.

  I cocked the gun, my movements quick.

  My eyes shut.

  I pulled the trigger.

  22

  Fred

  I had expected the noise to be louder.

  It took a second for it to register; by the time my eyes opened, I realized with sickening clarity that the gun hadn’t gone off. I had pulled the trigger—but the chamber was empty. It had merely clicked; nothing more.

  Henry stood before me, unharmed. His hands lowered and he took an assured step forward, reaching for the gun.

  I flinched away. I had betrayed his trust.

  “Frederic, calm down.”

  The gun was drawn easily from my hand. He popped the chamber, flashing it to me.

  “I don’t….” Understand.

  Henry caught the gist of it, smiling as he tucked the gun back into his jeans. “It isn’t loaded.” His hand came down softly on my shoulder, as if we were familiar now that I had tried to kill him. “I needed to take your measure. See what you would try and do.” He nodded to himself, squeezing my shoulder with something like pride in his eyes.

  I bit back against a sickened shiver.

  “You’re… you’re not angry…?”

  “I’m disappointed.” He nodded to himself. “I’m not gonna lie. It’s very disappointing. I wanted you to be better than that, but I’m not angry.”

  His hand drifted down over my back and he gave me a nudge between my shoulders. He was willing to turn his back on me before, but now I was in his sights. I was sure I would be there for a long time after the stunt.

  Henry spoke behind me as we walked to the garage. “I understand you had to try once,” he spoke, calm and collected, almost happy. We could have been talking about fishing or the weather.

  He insisted on something inconspicuous, the least expensive car I owned. As I reached for the door handle, trying to dream up ways to escape, his hand came over mine. His eyes were intense when I looked into them. “But… don’t let it happen again, Frederic. I’ll only tolerate betrayal once.” He didn’t issue any consequence; he didn’t have to. I could imagine them for myself.

  “O-okay.” I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  He looked at me curiously, hand raising to brush a lock of hair from my forehead. “You’re going to feel better when I explain all this to you.” He was so sure of himself. “I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

  I sat in the front while he changed the plates on the car to custom ones had had made, assumedly in preparation for this very moment. He kept the keys for himself. I was helpless, locked inside.

  I thought of Hassan, hoping against hope that he was okay. Maybe Henry was right; maybe he was on his way to me now. Henry spoke of Hassan as if he knew him, so perhaps it was true….

  We drove for what felt like hours.

  My bearings came and went slowly; I was aware we were driving away from the city and I wondered where it was he was taking me: the desert, the compound, the ocean? Finally, as we merged onto the highway, I realized with a startling clarity that he was taking me into the mountain range, where the woods were dense and provided plenty of hiding places.

  The radio had been playing some low classic rock the entire way out, as if it were a simple road trip. Feeling wooden, I turned to Henry, his eyes hyper focused on the road. “Where… so, where are we going?”

  Henry thought a moment, lightly saying, “The woods.”

  I drew a shuddering breath. “...Why?”

  Nodding slowly, he said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Only the gentle thrum of the engine, of our wheels on the road, filled the silence that followed. In the dim light of the dashboard, he smiled.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Frederic. I would never—I would never hurt you. I just want us to get out of all the… idiocracy. The falseness of the city. Away from the people. I want….” He took a deep breath. “I want us to get to know each other. Like a real—”

  “Like a date?”

  Henry turned to me. “Yeah. Like a real date.”

  He surprised me at every turn. Not necessarily in a good way—he was driving me into the woods as a hostage, after all—but I was trying to piece together what kind of person he was in my head. I asked him basic questions, slow to it, like gluing a vase back together, or like doing a puzzle, unsure of what the final product was supposed to look like.

  What’s your favorite color? Red. Favorite food? Chinese food, spring rolls. Favorite animal? Leopard.

  “Your favorite movie?” I asked, eyes glued to the road and he laughed.

  “That’s a difficult one. I suppose I should say one of yours, shouldn’t I?”

  I kept my face indifferent. “It won’t hurt my feelings….”

  He shook his head. “No, no. Yours are up there. It’d be impossible to pick—totally impossible. I’m like one of those film buffs. How people follow sports, I follow franchises. How people follow athletes, I follow—” and he gestured happily towards me, “—directors.”

  I nodded slowly, forcing a small smile. It strained my insides. “There are a lot of movies to pick from.”

  “Exactly. Too many.”

  A silence followed and I assume it was comfortable for him, but I was calculating, my mind wandering slowly to Hassan. What was their relationship? How was he so sure of what Hassan would do, at almost every turn?

  Treading carefully, I asked, “Henry?”

  “
Yes?”

  “What is the… well, how do you know Hassan?” I wasn’t sure of the best way to phrase it. “You talk about him like you know him well….”

  The smile disappeared immediately. Anger edged easily into his voice and though it wasn’t irate or violent, there was a definitive defensiveness. “He has nothing to do with us, Frederic—nothing.”

  I saw his hands grip tighter to the steering wheel. The air in the car turned tense, my muscles on edge as I strained to keep them still and alert. The songs on the radio passed by, muffled by static, one after another. Halfway through some obscure Vietnam-era song, Henry signed.

  “No. No, no, I understand.” But I didn’t at first, understand what he was talking about, as if he were picking up in the middle of a conversation that had not occurred. He glanced at me in the corner of his eye, sighing. “It’s fair—it’s normal and fair for you to ask, Frederic. You’re the only one in the dark, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t know how to answer, so I said nothing at all.

  “Hassan and I were….” He chose his words carefully. “Very close, Frederic. You have to understand, he hurt me deeply. He’s still trying to hurt me.”

  I wanted to say otherwise, but I couldn’t; it wouldn’t have been true. “You were friends?”

  Henry nodded. “We knew each other well. He was one of the people I was closest to. You can’t trust most people, but I thought differently of him. We had a lot in common. Shared experienced. Bonds. But he walked away from it and only….” He shook his head slowly, his exhaled like expelling an old poison. “Only bothered to reappear again to meddle in what we have. I don’t blame you for it, Frederic. Hassan is the one who had been interfering with our progress.”

  He seemed on edge when speaking about Hassan and I needed to keep him calm, relaxed, talking. I returned back to asking about inconsequential likes or dislikes; it worked best to treat it like a blind date. Keep him happy.

  Keep myself safe.

  The last lights of the city faded beyond the trees as we drove deeper and deeper into the woods.